Redstone Lane is more than my home garden. It’s an experiment shaped by years of designing plant-driven landscapes; a space where art and ecology meet through careful observation, instinct, and a willingness to let go.
Perched above a working harbour in Marblehead, Massachusetts, the garden unfolds as a layered response to its surroundings. Designed and planted over several years, it reflects my evolving understanding of naturalistic planting and a desire to reconcile the tension between wildness and order in a domestic landscape.
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We purchased the property in 2011, but it wasn’t until 2019 that the garden began to take shape. I’d spent the intervening years travelling, visiting important gardens and their designers, studying plant communities in the wild and refining a design practice grounded in structure and expressive planting.
Nurseryman Roy Diblik introduced me to the idea of resilient plant communities – gardens that evolve through interaction and time. He pointed me towards Piet Oudolf, whose body of work helped me see planting as a living medium shaped by structure, decay and seasonal change. That led me to Nigel Dunnett, whose time-based strategies and urban plantings revealed how ecology and artistry could thrive in even the most challenging settings.
Later, I studied the research-driven work of Cassian Schmidt at Hermannshof in Germany, and his wife Bettina Jaugstetter’s percentage-based planting strategies, which deepened my understanding of layered, low-maintenance plant communities. Then, in 2019, I did some labouring work on Andy Sturgeon’s RHS Chelsea Flower Show garden, an experience that gave me a front-row view of how bold structural elements amplify expressive planting.
The philosophies behind all of these designers’ work continue to resonate with me – reminding me that a successful garden is not a fixed composition, but a responsive, evolving system. Redstone Lane is the culmination of these experiences and insights.
Originally, the garden was largely turf, with basic foundation plantings. The grade was level in front of the property, then abruptly fell away, following the natural contours of the land down to the boatyard. During the house renovation, we added a front porch and balconies off the rear to connect the house more meaningfully with the outdoors.
From the start, I collaborated with landscape architect Matthew Cunningham, whose sensitivity to place and architectural detail helped establish a strong spatial framework. Through terraces, subtle shifts in grade and the quiet use of reclaimed materials, Matthew created a framework that gave the garden its bones – just enough structure to let the planting breathe and evolve.
The site presented real challenges, including a right of access to the public boatyard via our driveway. Rather than disguise the site’s realities, we chose to respond to them. We raised the grade and planted privacy hedges of Taxus x media ‘Hicksii’ and Carpinus betulus ‘Frans Fontaine’ to screen the house and frame views outward, so that the plantings subtly absorb the neighbouring activity, blurring boundaries rather than hardening them.
Through terraces, subtle shifts in grade and the quiet use of reclaimed materials, Matthew created a framework that gave the garden its bones – just enough structure to let the planting breathe and evolve
The garden is composed of two distinct but complementary spaces. The front garden suggests a woodland edge, its layered plantings creating a shaded, immersive retreat. A yew hedge acts as a datum; a Ginkgo biloba ‘Princeton Sentry’ and two Magnolia virginiana frame the front façade, while Hydrangea arborescens Invincibelle Limetta (= ‘NCHA8’) are scattered through a mix of shade-tolerant perennials. The mood here is quiet and contemplative, with filtered light revealing subtle textures: the curling edge of an ostrich fern, the movement of breeze through cascades of Hakonechloa.
In contrast, the rear garden opens into a sunlit, expressive space that reads like a meadow, though its construction is intentional. The planting is organised in repeating diagonal bands that bring rhythm and legibility to the composition, enhancing the sense of depth when viewed from within the space or above. Cool-season grasses such as Sesleria autumnalis and Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldtau’ awaken early in spring, concealing bare soil and lending structure through winter. These are interplanted with a host of perennials chosen.
A narrow path leads through Adam’s rich planting where grasses including Sesleria autumnalis and Eragrostis spectabilis are interplanted with a host of perennials, such as Eryngium x olivierianum Big Blue (= ‘Myersblue’), Echinacea pallida and Asclepias tuberosa. Beyond, hornbeam hedges and Hydrangea paniculata ‘Tardiva’ provide screening.
Through terraces, subtle shifts in grade and the quiet use of reclaimed materials, Matthew created a framework that gave the garden its bones – just enough structure to let the planting breathe and evolve.
Three of the original quartet of Cotinus coggygria ‘Royal Purple’ frame an eroded- edge terrace created from manganese ironspot brick, where Sutherland Franck lounge chairs and a Domani zinc coffee table create a restful place to sit and relax, engulfed by a mix of grasses and perennials – among them Salvia nemorosa ‘Caradonna’, Geranium ‘Azure Rush’, Eryngium x olivierianum Big Blue (= ‘Myersblue’), Echinacea pallida, Limonium coriarium, Betonica officinalis ‘Hummelo’, Asclepias tuberosa Echinacea purpurea PowWow White (= ‘Pas709018’) and Symphyotrichum ‘Little Carlow’.
Early season bulbs, such as tulips, and summer-blooming alliums are threaded through the matrix, extending the season of interest. Material choices reinforce the balance between structure and wildness. A herringbone-patterned terrace of manganese ironspot brick offers a grounding counterpoint to the plantings. The terrace is anchored by Cotinus coggygria ‘Royal Purple’, originally planted as a quartet to frame the space. Their deep-burgundy foliage echoes the neighbouring Acer platanoides ‘Crimson King’, adding a rich, atmospheric presence. Over time, we lost one and another is in decline – a reminder that gardens are never static, and even structural gestures must adapt.
Planting is organised in repeating diagonal bands that bring rhythm and legibility to the composition.
For the paths, we chose reclaimed granite curbing – a signature of Matthew Cunningham’s work; its texture, weight and subtle irregularity help ground the garden without overwhelming it. The custom soil blend – a clean, stable mix with sharp drainage and low salts – was brought in after raising the grade in
the rear garden. These foundational decisions made it possible for the plants to thrive in coastal conditions that include sun, salt and shifting moisture. The garden is irrigated, but sparingly – just enough to support the planting during extended dry spells.
Rather than creating a rigid planting plan, I worked from spreadsheets and visual collages, assembling species that would establish together, interact naturally and adapt over time – a technique I learned from Bettina Jaugstetter. The planting follows a matrix-based structure inspired by designed plant communities, a concept described by Thomas Rainer and Claudia West that combines bold, visually dominant plants with a supportive groundcover layer to promote ecological resilience.
Spacing plants approximately 40cm apart struck a balance – encouraging interaction while allowing room to mature. I had seen this strategy used effectively in several of Piet Oudolf ’s gardens and at Hermannshof, and drew on those examples to guide species selection at Redstone Lane, prioritising compatible growth habits and staggered seasonal dynamics. A base matrix provides visual cohesion and weed suppression, while a limited number of emergent plants introduce seasonal drama.
Unlike many designed gardens that require precise upkeep, Redstone Lane has thrived on observation and subtle intervention. Each season, I would return to the garden with fresh eyes – refining its composition based on what I saw, felt and anticipated.
Some plants, such as Echinacea pallida, had to be reduced to maintain this balance, while others self-seeded, further shaping the planting’s evolution. In the second year, I added Baptisia ‘Vanilla Cream’, Veronicastrum virginicum ‘Challenger’, Silphium mohrii and dahlias to introduce structure. Intentional disturbance proved beneficial in this species-rich context: I removed overperformers such as Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldtau’, replacing it with Sporobolus heterolepis, and thinned plants such as Salvia nemorosa ‘Caradonna’ to create space and light for others.
These decisions reflect Nigel Dunnett’s emphasis on managing succession through periodic intervention. In hindsight, our soil was too organically rich, encouraging excessive growth. The Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldtau’ overwhelmed neighbouring plants, and leaner, mineral-rich soil would have regulated growth more effectively.
Last autumn, we sold the property to move closer to family in the Midwest, and said goodbye to this garden. Creating it taught me to embrace a garden’s unpredictability – to notice what’s thriving, what’s fading, and where a gentle edit or enhancement could bring balance to the whole. What began as a personal project evolved into a study in humility and resilience – a reminder that a successful garden is never a finished composition, but a relationship, shaped by ongoing care.
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Find out more about Adam Woodruff’s work at adamwoodruff.com